Radiant Fist
by Jacob Kindar
Summary: Reboot of Shielding Mists - Arthas has fallen, and Azeroth has begun to rebuild after the onslaught of the Scourge. A human paladin is tasked with training a squad of fresh Alliance Army recruits into a force worthy of being called "heroes." But the elements are trembling; soon, The Destroyer will emerge from Deepholm, and with his release, the Cataclysm will tear Azeroth apart.
_So...I've been gone for...well over two years now. This story was largely forgotten as I couldn't play World of Warcraft anymore. However, I began to play again, and with it, I wanted to write. After realizing that I was still receiving favorites and follows on the original Shielding Mists almost four years after its posting, I decided to take a look._

 _It was painful to read to be honest. I (in my opinion) was so bland and cliche I wondered how people liked it, so I rebooted it all. I now have Shielding Mists 2.0, AKA Project "Radiant Fist."_

 _I felt the original went WAY too fast, so this one is much slower and meatier._

 _I don't own World of Warcraft or any stuff owned by Blizzard. Only the character ideas aside (anyone notice how these two words are anagrams?) from the main character are mine._

X-X-X

"Go, now! I'll hold him off!"

"He is too powerful! You don't stand a chance!"

"Joseph, what are you doing, he'll kill you!"

"You dare to face me alone?" There was a haunting laugh, "So be it!"

At the clang of blade against blade, Marcus awoke. He wiped his sweat-drenched brow and sighed.

 _"That dream, why can't I stop having that dream?"_ He thought as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked out his window as the sun began to rise over the rooftops of the Cathedral District of Stormwind.

Outside, he could hear the sounds of the night watch changing shifts with the day watch. Citizens were beginning to wake and go about their business. Soon, the city would be a bustle of activity. Marcus brushed his hand

Marcus pulled himself to his feet and began to dress. He forwent his armor in lieu of a simple outfit consisting of a plain white shirt and brown pants. A man of average height, Marcus was strongly built from constant fighting. His hair was cut relatively short, and he was devoid of any facial hair. He had finished putting his belt on when he heard a knock at the door.

"Missive for Knight-Captain Marcus Lavyik!" A boy's muffled voice yelled through the door, "You are to report to Goldshire by noon!" There was a moment's pause before he began to speak again, "I'll just leave your missive on your doorstep, sir!"

Marcus pulled the door open as the boy was leaning down to place a scroll on his doormat, causing the boy to jump. "Good morning, you had a missive for me?" He asked the boy.

"Y-yes sir, K-Knight-C-Captain sir." The boy stuttered, holding out the scroll. He had a blue shirt on, as well as a brown pair of shorts. His hair was short and slightly ruffled, as though he had just gotten out of bed. He had a bag strapped to his back, which likely had a multitude of similar scrolls contained within. The symbol of the post office, a horse's head with a letter in its mouth, was stitched into the breast of his shirt.

Marcus chuckled and lightly grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Relax," he said, "I'm not going to bite. There's no need for formalities; just call me Marcus. Now, may I know your name?"

The boy let out a relieved sigh. "My name is Andrew. I'm sorry, Kni—I mean Marcus. I've heard so many stories of your heroism, and was thrilled to finally meet one of the champions of Northrend."

Marcus chuckled again. "Just think of me as another citizen, Andrew. I'm not the same person now as I was battling the undead hordes." He accepted the scroll from the boy, tucking it into his belt for the moment. He grabbed a coin pouch from the belt and handed it to Andrew. "I know you have to run and deliver more messages, so here: payment for the delivery. You have my leave."

"Thank you Marcus!" The boy almost shouted, tucking the coin pouch into a side pocket of his bag. "I enjoyed talking, but I have to go!" Andrew then took off running into the city.

Marcus suppressed a third chuckle, breaking the seal and unrolling the scroll. _"I remember doing that at his age."_

 _Knight-Captain Lavyik,_

 _You are hereby ordered to report to the military training camp outside of Goldshire. You will be given charge of a squad of recruits and will oversee their training. Over the next several months, you are to mold them into a fighting force worthy of being called Alliance Soldiers. Report to me when you arrive at the training camp._

 _Field Marshal Williams._

"…Great." Marcus groaned. "I've never been good with recruits." He retreated back into his home and began to pack.

X-X-X

Marcus could hear shouting and orders from over a half-mile from the camp. As he drew near the entrance, the sounds got louder until it sounded like he was in the middle of the camp. The sun was almost directly overhead, reflecting off of the golden armor of his charger.

He had left his ceremonial military armor at his townhome in Stormwind. Rather, he wore his plate battle armor, a set of plate known as the Lightsworn Battlegear custom forged for paladins before the assault on Icecrown Citadel. On his back rested a great hammer, forged for him many years prior by the smith Joseph Stilwell, who dubbed it "Verigan's Fist." He also wore a blue scarf, upon which was embroidered a blade over two gold bars, the symbol of his rank.

The soldiers at the entrance to the training camp saluted Marcus as he approached and entered the camp. Several tents were set up in a circle within the camp, with the command tent on the opposite side of the circle. Marcus dismounted outside of the tent, the charger fading out of existence. He rapped on a post of the tent next to the front entrance to the tent.

"Knight-Captain Lavyik requesting permission to enter and report to Field Marshal Williams!" He shouted into the tent.

There was a moment of silence, before, "Enter!"

Marcus entered into a large room with a desk in the center, covered in papers. Behind it sat a man in a blue and gold embossed tunic, scratching a note onto a scroll.

"Field Marshal Williams, it's good to see you, sir!" Marcus announced, saluting.

"Put that damn hand down Marcus. I've told you time and time again, you don't have to salute me in private." The man said, putting down his quill. "We've been through frozen hell and back together, enough of the formalities." He rose from the desk, walked around it, and embraced Marcus. "How've you been, old friend?"

"Just fine, Johnny. I've been adjusting to civilian life well enough—that is, until you pulled me back into the military."

"Good to hear." Williams said, pulling away from Marcus. "I didn't call you here to catch up on old times, so let me be honest: these new recruits aren't nearly up to snuff as I want them to be." He sat down at his desk, pulling out a paper. "We lost far too many men and women at Northrend. Far too many good soldiers died in that frozen hellhole, and these new recruits are nowhere near the potential of those we lost."

"Johnny, those soldiers were from our generation of fighters; they'd been fighting since before we took down the Firelord in the heart of Blackrock Mountain. We took down an old god, a pit lord, and Illidan Stormrage himself alongside those people. These recruits are just that: recruits. You can't expect them to go toe-to-toe with a Scourgelord, like we have, and win just yet."

"I know. Which got me thinking," He pointed the quill at Marcus, "who better to teach them how to do exactly that than the man who took on a Scourgelord?"

"Why aren't you personally training them then? You're the one who was face-to-face with Tyrannus, not me."

"Because I'm dealing with something even deadlier than an empowered Death Knight." Williams looked down at his desk, "Damn paperwork…" he muttered.

"So what do you want me to do?" Marcus asked, suppressing a chuckle.

"I've set aside four recruits. These four are going to be training under you, and solely you. You're going to give them the same training that we received at the abbey all those years ago." He held out a paper to Marcus, who took it. "Those are the four recruits. They have been given a barracks tent to themselves away from the circle, so it should be easy to find them." Williams chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"I feel sorry for those poor fools." Williams said. "You better get going. Dismissed."

Marcus saluted, drawing an angry glare from Williams, before laughing and exiting the tent. He glanced at the paper.

 _Anthony Whistleton, Human Warrior_

 _Ilaya Shadowbough, Night Elf Druid_

 _Findiir, Draenei Shaman_

 _Kelsey Reeves, Human Priest_

 _"Solid team composition. Multiple possible healers and front-line fighters."_ Marcus thought as he read the names and classes. He glanced up as a platoon marched by, placing his view directly onto a barracks tent, slightly removed from the circle.

He approached the tent, stopping at the entrance to roll up the scroll and stored it in his armored robe. He let out a sigh. _"Alright, here we go."_

He stepped into a large tent, the wooden floor absolutely caked in dirt. There were four separated sections, with a fifth at the end of the cloth hallway.

At the sound of snoring, Marcus turned to his left to find a rather bulky Draenei, fast asleep on his bed, wearing half of his chainmail armor, the other half in a crumpled heap on the floor. Two axes hung from the side of the headrest.

The bed on his right was empty, though it was obviously the priestess'. A holy symbol of the Light hung over the bed, with a staff leaning against the foot board. A set of clean white robes were laid out on the bed.

He proceeded down the tent to the next set of beds. The one on the left was the druid's; there were a few potted plants around the perimeter of the area, as well as various wooden carvings of animals. Marcus looked up to see holes in the ceiling to let in light for the plants.

The opposing room was, through process of elimination, the warrior's. A sword and shield rested on the bed, with a helmet on the pillow. A set of plate armor rested underneath the bed, along with various personal effects, primarily weights.

The sound of metal against metal was heard from out behind the tent. Marcus exited and rounded the tent, to find a weight bench and some makeshift chairs. A Human Male was bench pressing a rather heavy weight, and a Night Elf Female was spectating.

"Someone mind telling me why we aren't training?" Marcus asked.

"We were given leave until our new instructor arrived." The man on the bench replied between grunts.

"Well your instructor has arrived, so put that weight down and go get ready for training." Marcus commanded. He didn't garner even a glance from either of them.

"Yeah yeah, let me fini—"

Marcus grabbed the weight in the middle of it being lowered, locking it in place with one hand.

"Now, soldier." He growled.

The man tried to continue pulling the weight down. "Hey, I sai—"

Marcus lifted the weight and threw it a few meters away. He then reached down and grabbed the man, lifting him up and hurled him towards the tent. "And I said go get ready, NOW MOVE YOUR ASS SOLDIER." He roared.

"What's your problem, man?" The human demanded as he pushed himself up off the ground.

At that moment, the Draenei that was sleeping inside had bolted around the corner in his spirit wolf form, reverting when he got to the group. "What's going on back here?" He had one axe in hand, was missing a glove and his chain shirt.

"I am Knight-Captain Marcus Lavyik." Marcus explained. "I came here expecting to find the best of this batch of new recruits; instead, I find this sorry excuse for a squad. From now on, I'm your new instructor. You will do what I say, when I say."

"And if we don't?" The man asked.

"Well, Anthony…" Marcus grinned beneath his helmet and nimbly hopped back despite his plate armor. He had his hammer in his in a second and spun, catching the side of the bar and lifting it onto its side before bringing the head down onto the weight bar, "…this is what will happen."

The weights on the end shattered from the force of the blow, and the long metal bar was smashed down into a cylinder approximately five inches high.

"I would suggest you all get ready for training." Marcus growled.

The three scrambled to run around to the front of the tent.

Marcus stood there a moment. He looked at his hammer, then at the weight bench. He rolled his shoulder. _"Damn, that hurt."_

X-X-X

 _To be honest, I like doing rather vague and bare physical descriptions of characters. It cuts down on the amount of brain cells I need to kill figuring out hair length, eye color, etc. and it leaves the reader some room to imagine what a character looks like._

 _R &R, I'd like to know if people like the way this version is going or if they prefer the original plot and style. Think of this as a pilot chapter: people like it, I'll continue on this path, but if they complain enough, I'll see about changing it only to stem the tide of rock throwing._


End file.
